Be mean… Be nice


Come on by, push me to my knees and show me how you like it. Fuck my face until my throat is raw and I am gagging on your rock hard dick. I want rug burn on my knees and hand prints on my ass. Make me want you so badly I can’t help but to beg, so caught up in my ecstasy that my inhibitions are forgotten.

Or, hold me close. Let me feel your breath warming my ear. I’ll snuggle up so i can feel you harden against my soft skin. Let me explore you with my tongue. Glide in slowly as I get more and more wet. Tell me how much you want me as I get closer and closer to climax. Take me slowly until I lose myself in your embrace.

Confused?

People are multidimensional. We have different desires according to our moods and, as we all know, those can change in a heartbeat. The good news is that, as far as sex goes, there is nothing wrong with that. When I started being open about my sexuality I was bombarded with questions. Through answering them I found that I had built myself a persona. It wasn’t a lie but it wasn’t the complete truth either. I cannot be labeled, my preferences don’t fit in to neat little check boxes and (say it with me) that’s okay!

I find that this pressure to be your kinks adds yet another level of stress when it comes to sexuality. You need to be honest about what turns you on. You need to be comfortable vocalizing your needs, even when it makes you nervous. Your partner is not a mind reader – he or she cannot please you if they don’t know what that entails. At the same time, you are not your kinks. There are very few people who are always in kink mode because, honestly, it would be exhausting. Even the biggest submissive who loves to be objectified and spanked wants a day where her partner pampers her and tells her all the wonderful qualities she has. We are people first. Our relationships are supposed to be deeper than just sexual gratification.

It can be extremely difficult to “come out” to our partners about what turns our cranks. There is still so much considered taboo in our society and the less common our desires, the harder it feels. I don’t have a lot of advice on the subject. At some point you just need to bite the bullet and hope that you have picked a partner that is open minded and who values you enough to at least try. I still get nervous when I have to tell a prospective partner how perverted I can be. There are things that I will not disclose before a certain level of trust is obtained. The good news is that anytime I have achieved that level of trust and actually told a partner about my kinks they have been quite receptive. Often they are almost too eager to help me get my rocks off. I’ve had guys turn in to super mega doms 24/7 and, as much fun as it sounds, it just isn’t possible. I love to be put in my place and a good spanking goes a long way but daily? It becomes routine, the exact thing I try to avoid. And don’t forget that long-term, serious relationships cannot only be based on sex. At some point those whips and chains need to go away and you need to be able to discuss things as equals or get in to arguments or any number of other normal, vanilla things that shape our daily lives.

If your significant other feels comfortable enough in telling you his or her fantasies I hope you feel thankful. It shows a high level of trust and intimacy – it truly is an honor. Don’t be afraid to be honest in return though. It’s normal if you aren’t 100% comfortable at first, especially if it is a new concept. Like any other part of a relationship, sometimes it is best to start slowly… the important thing is just to start – with an open mind.

So go out there and explore! Break out the whips and chains, the pompoms and plaid skirts, the whip cream and strawberries. You might discover you have kinks you didn’t even know existed!

Speaking of which – I would love to know if there is any fetishes you find are not really discussed that you would like me to tackle? Or perhaps you would benefit from a list of fetishes and what they are? Let me know and I will see what I can do!

As always, tell me yours and I might just tell you mine

Women’s day


It’s women’s day! Or it was when I wrote this… To celebrate I’d like to take this opportunity to discuss a fun little fetish, one that might not seem to jive with such a feminist holiday. Let me remind you though that feminism is about giving women a choice in how we live our lives. It is not about forcing ideas on anyone else or forcing us in to roles that we do not want to take. Regardless of anyone’s good intentions, feminism is about taking control of our lives and living them how we want to.

I have a 1950s housewife fetish. Gasp! I know, I know. Here I am preaching about the importance of being an empowered, independent woman in the modern age and the idea of that era makes my panties wet. I love taking care of men. I love being able to fall in to that predetermined gender role. Don’t try to push it on me, never forget that I am your equal but can we play a bit? Please?

When you come home from work wouldn’t it be nice to find a clean house and a hot meal on the table? I’ll be waiting for you in a sexy outfit and high heels with a cold beer and a warm smile. You can tell me about your day while I hang on your every word. I’ll give you bonus points if you let me kneel at your feet with my head in your lap while you do it.

When we retire for the night you take the lead, undress me and throw me on to the bed. We can skip the foreplay tonight sweetheart, just take me. Your hardness eases me open as you use me for your pleasure. Push it in, deep and hard, faster and faster as you use like a doll. You know how I like it, don’t hold back, don’t you dare stop. Make me scream. Pound the headboard in to the wall. Who cares about the neighbors? Let them complain, I love their jealousy. Thrust in and out until we collapse, spent, exhausted by ecstasy. I’ll make a snack while you turn on the TV and catch up on the news.

I just want to be used, I want to make you cum over and over again. I’ll manage the house if you take out the trash. Keep me happy. Be the man and I’ll treat you like a king. Is that so wrong? It feels pretty right to me.

I’m so happy that women can do anything that men can. We can work, we can vote, we can go to war. But, to me, nothing feels as safe a being wrapped in your arms after a good fuck. You pamper me, won’t you let me please you?

Sex makes babies


I have some really amazing news – sex makes babies. No really, it’s true! Which means that people with children have had sex at some point…and I’m willing to bet they liked it which means *gasp* parents have sex.

Can you tell me about the night you were conceived? Did your mom put on sexy lingerie? Did your dad insist on oral sex? I honest to god pray that you don’t know. As far as I’m concerned, my mother had boring, vanilla sex in missionary one time in her entire life and, nine months later, I was born. Truth be told, any other possibility makes me a little nauseous and that’s okay. We shouldn’t know every detail about our parents’ sex lives but that doesn’t mean that they (and others like them) don’t have one.

Women get the short end of the stick (no pun intended) in so many ways when it comes to sex. They get put down and shamed for having desires and going after them. Slut shaming is so engrained in our society we fail to even recognize it half the time.

Mother’s barely have time to brush their hair or shower for what feels like forever. Ask the mother of a toddler or preschooler the last time they had the luxury of peeing by themselves, that’s always good for a laugh. Sex is often put on the back burner for way too long because sleep wins out. Every time.

Things do settle down eventually. You settle down in to a new normal. you get back in to the swing of things and sex does come back. There might even be a point where you have not only showered and done your hair but you even get the chance to pull out that box under your bed, dust it off and stare in wonder as you try to remember when the last time you played with a toy was. If you were kinky before it will come back too but then what? Societal pressure will come right behind it, as usual. The mommy wars are being waged all around us, only a fool would believe that sexuality and kink are an exception.

You are a mother now… you can delve in to the world of kink, I guess (although a lot of people would proclaim “I would never!” or “If my husband ever brought that up I would *insert ignorant comment here*”) but you have to keep it private. Don’t take pictures. Don’t brag. Don’t you dare write a blog! After all, what if your kids ever found out? What would they think?!

Let me answer this once and for all. My children will be educated on sexuality. I’m not just talking about the basic mechanics of penis>sperm>egg>baby but the emotional baggage that comes with it. I don’t know how much detail I will put out there because I’m not there yet but I do believe in starting the conversation young and never stopping it. Much in the same way that there will be condoms everywhere, my children will know where to get reliable information when they don’t feel comfortable coming to me. That reliable and fact based information will keep them safe. Yes, they will find pornography but they will know that it isn’t real life. I cannot stress this enough – it is not enough to only teach the basics anymore! Thanks to the wonderful world of the internet your child is going to be exposed to it all – give them the tools to interpret it.

As for what my children will think about this blog – they are going to think the same thing that I do when I try to picture the night I was conceived – gross! But guess what, they probably won’t find this blog. There is a billion porn sites out there that are much more interesting than this, at least this blog tries to be realistic and doesn’t spread shame. Plus, actual porn stars have been having children for decades and they all seem too have survived.

Who knows? Maybe my future children will decide to rebel by becoming completely celibate. A mother can always dream right?

Watch more porn!


You watch porn. I know you do. I don’t know if you are male or female, black or white, young or old but I know you watch porn. How? Because everyone watches porn occasionally, contrary to what that crazy conservative bunch want you to believe. In 2013, Pornhub alone was getting 1.68 million hits – an hour.

So, good news, you are not alone. I did a quick Google search to find some interesting statistics on pornography and, surprise surprise, six of the top eight hits were against the whole thing (my favorite was a website called “porn is the new drug”). Sigh. We all know that I am sex positive  but I didn’t realize that so many people were so vocally anti-porn. Anti-sex for fun? Sure. But anti porn?! What has polishing the family jewels ever done to them? (Seems to me that they could use a little tension release…)

The answer is nothing. Look, I understand that porn addiction is a legitimate problem. However, it effects very few of the total consumers. If you think you have a problem please, reach out, but it is such a small number that I couldn’t even find real (read unbiased) statistics on it. I’d argue that watching porn is actually a good thing for a few reasons. I’ll touch on a few here.

It keeps sex interesting. Is there a better place to get new ideas or cool moves? Couples can use porn as a jumping off point when the want to introduce a new aspect to their sex life. It can be an easy way to bring up fetishes and desires that you’ve been nervous about mentioning. It’s easier to mention a porn scene and keep things hypothetical sometimes. 50 Shades of Grey anyone?

It helps, that’s right helps, monogamy. I’ve said it a thousand times, people are not generally good at monogamy. We are programed to want variety and that’s great. But what about people who want to give the old fashioned thing the college try? Porn gives people the fantasy, you can cum to so many different types of people, crazy scenarios and hot fantasies. It might just help keep your “real life” relationship monogamous if you are buffing your banana to other stuff. There is no harm in trying it. I think even the most hardcore monogamous can agree that it doesn’t matter where you get your appetite when you’re eating at home.

It’s safe sex. The largest pornography viewers are 12-17 year old boys. Please, contain your shock. You cannot get anyone pregnant or catch an STI by jerking off. Period. Not possible. I would rather young teens masturbate than have sex as far as safety is concerned. Let’s be honest though, they do both. But every load dumped in a gym sock is one less to worry about… I’ll take what I can get.

Pornography doesn’t lead to sex crimes. Don’t believe me? No fewer than four thousand studies back me up. In fact, no link has ever been made between the two. People with “dark” fantasies might even benefit from watching pornography. An adult film is shot with two (or three, or more!) consenting adults. They can role play whatever they want but that’s what it is, role play. Watching a fantasy unfold might be enough to curb some people’s desires though. In fact, sex crimes are actually lower in countries that have easy access to porn.

Don’t fall for the hype. Pleasure is good for you, there is no shame in test firing the old meat pistol – everybody does it (Jackie Chan was in a porn flick in 1975, just saying). We need to stop stigmatizing normal sexuality. We need to stop shaming people for healthy desires. It’s getting out of hand (pun intended).

So ladies and gentlemen, jerk off today – think of me!

The Origins of St Valentine’s Day


Hot pagan sex and lustful gods and ancient wolf goddesses and

potential marriage and more sex and more than a little crazed giddy divine

animal blood sacrifice.

All followed by some nice light whippings administered by nearly naked

grinning boy-men, casual flagellations by goat-skin, some joyful

thrashing in the name of fertility and purity and, you know, sex. Ahh,

Valentine’s Day.

The original, that is. Before it was called Valentine’s Day, back when

it was called Lupercalia, a big Roman festival in honor of the

fertility god Lupercus, before the ever- scowlin’ church got a hold of this

ancient and rather odd and blood-pumped Roman lust- fest, co-opted it and

de-sexed it stripped it of its more salacious and admittedly libertine

joys, as the church is so tragically wont to do.

Because as everyone knows, the church is nothing if not all about rigid

joyless dogma and romantic abstinence and mountains of little chalky

candy hearts. Mmm, sanctimoniousness.

Tried to convert it into a mildly consecrated (read: bland, not naked)

day, the church did, “Christianize” that naughty pagan fest, and

failing that because no way are you gonna trump ancient sex and lust with

uptight chastity and faux-purity, they tossed in Saint Valentine to the

mix, invented some nice legend, tried to turn this most funky of pagan

holidays into an homage to saccharine romantic love and cherry nougat

chocolates and Hallmark schmalz.

Did they succeed?

Sort of.

Basically, it went something like this: In ancient Rome, on the 15th of

February, in an altar called the Luperci sacred to the god Lupercus, in

a cave in which the she-wolf goddess nursed founding twins Romulus and

Remus, Luperci priests gathered and sacrificed goats and young dogs,

the former for strength, the latter for purification and in honor of

their strong sexual instinct and because it was a fertility deity and this

is just what you did if you were a happy pagan citizen a couple

thousand years ago.

Some hunky boys of noble birth were then led to the shrine, where the

priests would dab their foreheads with a sword dipped in the animal

blood, after which our baffled youths were apparently obliged to break out

into a shout of purifying laughter because that’s what the rite called

for and no one is quite sure why and, well, wouldn’t you?

Then, a feast. Meat. Wine galore. Followed by the slicing of goat skins

into pieces, some of which the priests cut into strips and dipped in

the blood and then handed to the boys, who would take off and run through

the streets, gently touching or lashing crops and bystanders —

especially women — with the skins along the way to inspire fertility and

harvest and because hey, half-naked laughing boys wielding bloody goat

skins — what’s not to love?

Actually, the women eagerly stepped forward to be so stroked, believing

that such a blessing rendered them fertile (even if they were sterile),

and procured them ease in childbearing, and made them look all gothy

and cool and sexy.

“This act of running about with thongs of goat-skin was a symbolic

purification of land and men,” says one rather dry, scholarly website on

the topic. “For the words by which this act is designated are februare

and lustrare, and the goat-skin itself was called februum, the month in

which it occurred Februarius, and the god himself Februus.” So, you

know, there you go. February. Purity and lust and sex and gods. Really,

what else do you need?

Then came the sex lottery. Oh yes. Say it like you mean it. Pretty much

only have to say the words, “sex lottery,” and already you’re like,

damn, count me in, sure beats dinner and a movie.

And all the young lasses in the city would place their names in a large

urn, and the city’s eligible bachelors would choose a name out of the

urn and become paired for the year with his chosen woman, often

resulting in marriage. You know, sort of like the Mormons. Only with actual

sex. And booze. And without the creepy undergarments.

But if there’s one thing the sexless butt-clenched church really hates,

it’s sex lotteries. And free thinking. And good porn. Condoms.

Margarita enemas. Literature. But especially sex lotteries. Go figure.

So along comes Pope Gelasius around 486 A.D. and declares, let’s say,

oh, February 14 to be dedicated to a saint, and we’ll call him Saint

Valentine, who might or might not be an actual martyr whose true history

is murky at best, given how church records show at least four martyrs

with the name Valentinus, whoops, oh well.

And of course, they outlawed the yummy sex lotto, the church did,

changed the names in the urn from lusty single women to the names of pious

saints to be emulated, whee what fun, and jammed their new holiday right

up against the February 15 date of Lupercalia.

Which also had the added bonus of stomping all over the normal February

14 day of honoring Juno (Roman Goddess-queen of women and marriage),

and focused it all on the makeshift Valentine, and voila, here we are:

Hallmark cards and candy hearts and poisoned Ecuadorian rose workers. In

a nutshell.

But of course, the modern V-Day isn’t all bad. And this is not to say

we should necessarily return to the old ways, a little bloodletting and

lashing and animal sacrifice and random sex lotteries. Except for maybe

the Mormons.

Because everyone knowns that right under the cheap veneer of

Valentine’s Day mega-marketing and hollow churchly romance is yet another

delicious excuse to have more sex and indulge in fleshly pleasures and lick

chocolate syrup off your lover’s tailbone.

Hopefully.

In other words, the church both succeeded in their hostile takeover,

and failed miserably. Sure Valentine’s Day is all romance and sentiment

and Malaysian-made stuffed teddy bears on the outside, but it’s all raw

oysters and sly spankings and salacious romps and whipped-creamed

nipples and soft divine bedroom cooing, inside.

Which is exactly as it should be. Which is exactly how we still,

without even realizing it, manage to recall our delicious Lupercalia, take a

big lick of ye olde pagan ways, regardless of everpresent churchly

frowning and ‘Be Mine’ twittering and chubby Cupid chinz. Deep earthly sex

and hoary gods and fertile lust and voluminous feasts of meat and

wine?

You’re soaking in it.

Because it’s always good to know where your manufactured holidays

really come from.

Always healthy to pay homage to the true origins, realize how much

calculated deceit has happened along the way.

Just like Christmas and Easter and Halloween and any major holiday

worth mentioning that the church gutted and renamed and from whose moist

tremulous soul they tried to suck the pithy throbbing joy, ya gotta

give props to the old gods, throw a karmic kiss to Lupercus and Juno and

the she-wolf. Word.

So. Buy those giant red balloons. Nab that $29 heart-shaped diamonelle necklace.

But don’t forget to acknowledge that deep-down, gnawing, sly urge you’re doubtlessly harboring to rush out into the streets and wait for the laughing naked boys and get yourself gently lashed with bloody goat skins and then go have sex.

Just like the pagan lust-monkey you so wish to be.

You go, Lupercus.

Are you cheating?


Cheating… it’s a fairly common occurrence in today’s monogamous society, but what exactly is it? Just like the term “relationship” itself, cheating is defined by the people involved, or that’s how it should be. All too often, we let society’s rules dictate what is right and wrong in our personal lives. There are times when that can be a good thing (murdering people = bad… I can buy in to society’s views on that one) but more often than not it just causes stress and guilt. On the surface, it seems that most people agree that going outside of a relationship for sexual gratification is a no go. I guess this is just one more example on why I am not like most people.

When you enter a monogamous relationship, you agree to refrain from having any sort of sexual contact with another person. If that works for you then great (I tend to believe that you are lying but I’ll accept it). The fact is that it simply does not work for most of us. I have my own definition of cheating that is much more acceptable outside of ‘mainstream’ society (Dan Savage, author of “Savage Love” is a huge advocate as well).

Cheating is defined as ” to deprive of something valuable by use of deceit or fraud” by good old Google. I agree. Notice how is does not say “shoving your cock in someone else”, it’s a little deeper than that.

When you deprive someone of something it implies that they wanted it in the first place. If your partner isn’t interested in sex and hadn’t been in a long time, you can’t really call it deprivation can you? You cannot take something from someone who doesn’t want it. It is a shame when people allow themselves to buy in to the idea that sex and kink are optional. They’re really not. Unfortunately, you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make them drink – you cannot force a person to get in to sex. You can only show them the way and support their exploration, hopefully that is enough.

The next part of the definition calls in to question what is “valuable”.  I LOVE sex but, as I say in my first blog post, it isn’t overly valuable to me. Sex is great! I suggest doing it well and often but, emotions are much more important to me. When I am in a relationship I look to my partner as a sounding board for my thoughts, dreams and ideas. We have mind blowing, light fixture rattling sex but that isn’t the part that makes it a strong relationship (important, yes, but not the most important). Because of this, my relationships tend to be more open in the sex department. I would be much more hurt if i found out my partner was hiding their feelings from me, if they didn’t feel safe sharing their needs and wants.

Finally, the definition wraps up with mentioning deceit and fraud. If you you feel the need to hide your activities from your partner, whatever they are, you might be cheating. On the other side though, you need to enter a relationship with your cards on the table. If you know you just aren’t that in to sex you need to be honest about that, anything else is fraud and it is not fair to your partner. This stuff can be hard. We’re taught that sexually monogamous relationships are the only acceptable answer. So, we settle for one person. I am not saying you can’t be happy with one person. On the contrary, I don’t think I could handle more than one person emotionally. However, the idea of one cock for 60+ years makes me want to shoot myself. Maybe that’s a flaw but I’m okay with it and I make sure the people I am with are too (…now. I was a serial cheater for a long time).

I wish that this idea was more accepted. We should be choosing our mates by their personalities, confident in the knowledge that our sexual needs will be met, one way or another. If you have cheated I assure you that you are not alone.

Here are some stats on infidelity:
* 41% – marriages where one or both partners admit to infidelity
* 31% of marriages survive infidelity
* 74% of men and 68% of women say that they would cheat if they knew they wouldn’t get caught
Source: Associated Press, Journal of Marital and Family Therapy

Cheating is common. With numbers like this I have a hard time believing that it is only caused by unhappy people. I think it’s time we look at the numbers and reevaluate our ideas on relationships and monogamy – wouldn’t you?

 

Shut up and fuck me!


At some point last year I joined one of those free online dating services (feel free to use this against me if I ever try to convince you of my sanity).  My goal was pretty simple – get laid.

I’ve been told my entire life that boys were only after one thing. They don’t want to get to know you. They don’t care about you. They lie when they tell you that they love you. It is all just a big show to get in your pants. I was raised by two generations of women scorned – can you tell? Feel free to donate to my mental health fund, this type of stuff is the tip of the iceberg.

Armed with this valuable insight in to the male psyche, I installed the app, filled out my profile and uploaded a few sexy pictures. Then I sat down for what I thought was going to be a long wait. The responses poured in. It was actually ridiculous. I’m pretty sure that I was getting emails before my phone had finished loading. Those boys! They were looking for one thing alright…but it wasn’t the thing they were supposed to be looking for.

I have never had to answer so many questions about what I did on my spare time. My profile was crystal clear; I was looking for some NSA (no strings attached) sex. I didn’t want to date, no need to waste time and money on a fancy dinner. I don’t need to know your name, what you do or how cute your cat is. I’m sure that of the hundreds of responses I got there were some very nice guys but, to put it bluntly, I didn’t give a flying fuck.

I reread my profile in an attempt to to see where I went wrong. It was a whole paragraph long – just the right length to talk about how great my personal life was and what I was looking for. “I’m not looking to date, I just want to relieve some sexual tension,” it proclaimed. Ok, obviously my profile was not the issue.

My best guess was that the men who came across my profile got distracted by my body and didn’t bother to go any further. These are men after all – easily distracted by boobs and shiny things. So I decided to be a little more explicit in my responses.

Some sample conversations:
Him- hey hows it going?
Me – great you?
Him – good, what do you do?
Me – really not looking to talk. wanna hook up? 😉

Him – hey! I’m Joe Blow from a town near you.
Me – hello 🙂 You’re cute, we should go out!
Him – sure! I love Mexican food…and Italian. Oh and there’s this little place downtown…and I work for the government…and wanna see some pictures of my cat Fluffy? He’s rather cute

Him – hey! Saw your profile and you seem so interesting. What do you do on your spare time?
Me – suck cock

(There were also a few religious nuts, cock shots from around the world and judgmental assholes who enjoy criticizing the way I live my life. That’s a story for another day)

All in all, I had very little luck. Hundreds of guys and only two worth checking out in depth. I had one guy finally come over after talking for weeks. He fixed my car. We talked. He left. Not so much as a kiss on the cheek. Apparently when he told me he could come over to look under my hood he was being literal.

I met another guy for drinks with his wife. Red flag number one – I get dressed to the nines in a sexy dress, boobs out for the world to see, great set of heels, hair all pretty; they are in jeans and sweatshirts. Hindsight is 20/20. Anyway, they were in an open relationship and she travelled a lot for work. Perfect right? His emotional needs were obviously being met. I could come in, get off and leave. He was the most boring human being I have ever met in my entire life. It was painful. When he opened his mouth I had fantasies of putting my finger so far up my nose I could scramble my brain. It’s not just that he didn’t stop talking (I’m a pretty social person) it was that he had nothing to say. Here is a guy who is “living the dream” in an open relationship and I don’t even get a hint of sexuality from him. I was getting desperate though so I invited him out to a club for a drink. No amount of alcohol could convince me to look past how dull he was. He was cute though. If he had been smart he would have kept his mouth shut and I would have been all over that.

Guys – JUST SHUT UP AND FUCK ME!!!! I understand that this goes against everything you’ve been taught. I understand that “nice girls” want you to get to know them first. But, let’s be honest here, every once and a while isn’t sex just for orgasm’s sake wonderful?

You and I are not going to date. You’re not bringing me home to your mother – nobody needs to know about the dirty, perverted things we did behind closed doors (or in the bathroom of the club, or in the back of your car, or on that park bench..) and isn’t that the best part? Doesn’t that tempt you? It sounds pretty darn amazing to me. Sex without strings is sex without judgment and there are few things in life more awesome than that.

So, if you see me floating around the internet looking for a nice hard cock, do everyone a favor —

SHUT UP AND FUCK ME!

Cashing in the V card


Yesterday was my anniversary. There are a lot of special days in my life and I’d like to pretend i know them all. In reality, I can’t even remember my best friend’s birthday. I blame not being good with math… stupid numbers.

This one was a big one though – the day I lost my virginity. I was deflowered. I lost my innocence. I cashed in the V card. I guess you expect some cheeesy romantic tale; a guy and a girl, months of anticipation, maybe even the delusion of love. Sory to disappoint but that isn’t exactly how it went. The guy’s name was chris, he owned a sunfire (something about that car still makes me a little wet), his favorite color was blue and he (like every other Canadian male) played hockey. There, now you know exactly the same amount as I do about the guy – and I learned most of that after we had done the deed.

So, why the lack of fairy tale magic present in most other ‘first time’ stories? Simple, I’ve never bought in to this ridiculous view on sexuality that society tries to shove down our throats. Funny how such a conservative society tries to shove more down our throats than a big budget porn flick. We give sex way too much power. Those beautiful fairy tale romances that inspire ‘first time’ stories eventually end, and then what? People get super depressed because, not only has their “true love” left but, (s)he was their first one! They were special! Nobody else will ever get that honor ever again and it was wasted! But was it….

I’m not trying to sound cold and bitter. I have had relationships where I had all the symptoms. My hormones work just as well as anyone elses (there’s a good case to be made that mine are on overdrive). I have been truly attached to another and it felt amazing while it lasted. I can honestly say that these feels were not because of crazy sex. It may have been a pleasant side effect but it was NOT the cause – my relationships are deeper than that (pun intended).

Which brings me back to Chris. He came by, one thing led to another and we had some very uninspired and painful sex. Was it special? of course it was, it was my first time! I still remember the sensation of my pretty blue panties sliding down my thighs, my jean skirt being pulled up, the hunger of his lips all over my body. Was I upset when it was over? Nope. He was a good time (the best time I ever had… until the next one) and then he was gone. No harm, no foul. He seemed nice but I didn’t invest all this emotion in an act of lust. Do I regret it? No! No! NOOOO!! I am so happy that I can look back on this date with a smile and a laugh. No baggage, no regrets.

Sometimes sex is just sex. I know that this is a radical view to so many people and that’s the real shame here. Let’s take a moment to celebrate sex, to feel the freedom of that realization.

Go out and cum today ladies and gentlemen. Do it to yourself or grab yourself a partner – enjoy it! Enjoy each other!